Chapter 16

Zoey’s skin went cold, her stomach sank, and the ground was thrown from her feet. For one never-ending second, she was torn apart, scattered to the wind like an urn emptied into the ocean breeze. Then she snapped back to coherency, reassembled in an instant.

She staggered and almost fell, if not for Rosalie’s powerful grip steadying her.

“You really are a novice,” her blonde partner said, amused.

“Woah. That was ... trippy.”

Zoey blinked around at their new surroundings, eyes adjusting to the light. They had been wandering around dimly lit areas for so many hours that having the sun back above her was an almost painful experience. Sunset approached, streaking the sky with orange-yellow rays.

They stood in an autumn forest, leaves having shed from the twisted branches to coat the ground in a decaying blanket. The foliage crunched as Zoey turned in a circle. Crickets chirped and birds sang somewhere in the background. Zoey had gotten so used to the shard’s eerie silence that the noise of a living forest caught her off guard.

The air was dry and hot. There were no landmarks in any direction. Certainly not anything man-made.

“Where are we?” Zoey asked.

“In the Fractures.” She shrugged. “Where? Who knows?”

“So we’re lost?”

“A Wayfarer is always lost. Now we seek an outpost.” She chose a random direction—or what appeared to be so by Zoey—and walked.

Zoey jogged after her. Like usual, Rosalie spared not a moment before moving to practical matters.

It made sense to get moving. They could cover ground as they talked. “Right. So, what’s the plan? How do we find ... an outpost?”

Rosalie heard the question in her voice: ‘outpost’?

“The Fractures are scattered with them. We’re hardly in a unique situation. They’re rest points. We’ll eat, sleep, then enlist a guide to aid us back to proper civilization.”

“A guide?”

“The Fractures are too numerous, and shifting, for a Wayfarer to navigate themselves. Guides spend their lifetimes wrangling even a basic understanding of their local cluster, and still struggle. But they’re more competent than we could hope to be.”

That made sense. Zoey had gained a basic understanding of how the Fractures, and shards, worked in their previous talks. Haven, at the metaphorical ‘top’ of the ladder, was safe, but was a barren wasteland, lacking resources and arable land. Wayfarers—those granted runes—ventured into the Fractures, a collection of shattered pocket-realms, accessed through scattered ‘Gates’ in Haven, to bring back resources to feed and supply their civilian population.

The Fractures were littered with threats of their own, but not nearly as deadly and frequent as those found in shards, which swarmed with monsters. Though, danger levels varied. The realms of the Fractures were rated in the same way as shards, through an ‘advancement’ score which lined up to the rune system. First-advancement shards tended to expel Wayfarers into first-advancement pockets of the Fractures, so the place she and Rosalie had found themselves in was safer, overall, than the shard they’d been in. But not safe, necessarily. They’d need to be on the lookout.

Zoey didn’t have a perfect understanding of how everything slotted together, but she had a foggy picture. It was a lot to take in.

“Okay. So, outpost, eat, rest, clean up, then set out to a bigger city. What’s our future look like after that?” They crunched along the forest floor, picking over logs and avoiding low-hanging branches. Zoey wondered how long it would be before they found hints of a path, or something else that would lead them to an ‘outpost’. Rosalie had pulled all manners of survival supplies from that chest in the dungeon, her ‘inventory chest’, so they had everything they needed for an extended period of roughing it. But Zoey would rather not be making a multiple-day hike. It sounded like Rosalie expected it to not take long.

“There’s a repeating process to an efficient Wayfarer,” Rosalie said. “Clear a shard, loot it dry. Equip what you can. Haul the rest back to a city, identify and sell it, then stock up on whatever supplies were expended. Perhaps take a day or two to rest and heal, if necessary. Then set out to an appropriate advancement zone and explore until you find a shard entrance. Rinse and repeat.” She paused. “Things complicate with parties, but I’ve been working alone.”

It would sound monotonous, if not for the implied variety in every adventure. “Why?”

“I prefer it.” She shrugged. “I’d have eventually partied up, since it’s all but a necessity as advancement raises, but for now ... I went solo.”

“Eventually?” Zoey quoted. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Not long,” Rosalie said, surprising her. “I’m only second advancement. This was my seventh trip. It’s been ... two weeks?”

“Two weeks?” Zoey had figured Rosalie some kind of extensive veteran. She carried herself like one. Clearly, it was her upbringing. She’d been prepared for this from a young age. Which brought a question to mind, “How old are you, anyway?”

“Eighteen, and two weeks,” Rosalie said, emphasizing the second part to point out she’d entered immediately on her eighteenth birthday. “Wayfarers aren’t allowed into the Fractures until adulthood. That’s when runes develop.”

Zoey had figured Rosalie older than her, for some reason. The way she presented herself, so stoic and composed. Determined. Zoey had assumed she was in her early twenties at the oldest, based on her appearance, but eighteen? Younger than she’d thought. “Huh. I’m nineteen.”

Rosalie shot her a look. “You entered late, then. I wonder why, when you were given such powerful runes.”

Well. She hadn’t been given them at eighteen, like the regulars of this world. She’d been given them a year and some change later, after being yanked through dimensions by a perverted goddess.

Not something she could explain to Rosalie. Even if Ephy’s order to not do so hadn’t hung over her head, she might not have wanted to. Rosalie wouldn’t believe her. Who would? She’d rather come off as an amnesiac, or even secretive, than a crazy person.

“Not sure,” Zoey said. “I’ve really got no clue what’s going on with me.” An honest statement.

Rosalie pursed her lips. “Are you going to seek out your family, when we make it to safety? Try to find someone you know?”

That would be a reasonable thing to do. Zoey wondered how to answer it. “Probably not.” She didn’t expand.

Rosalie didn’t push. She, at least, understood not spilling one’s heart or motivations out. She had her own secrets she was keeping—and poorly. Who her father was, for one, or who she was in general. Zoey didn’t need to be a detective to see Rosalie was someone important, and trying to hide the fact.

“Will you be?” Zoey asked.

Rosalie paused, then grimaced. “Eventually, I’ll have to.”

“You should have already?”

“Yes. My family won’t be pleased I dawdled.”

“They’re Wayfarers, too?”

“Of course.”

“Why haven’t you?”

A silence. Zoey wondered if she’d pushed too far—even though she’d barely pushed at all.

“I’ve been enjoying some time away,” Rosalie eventually admitted. “My family is...” she struggled for how to put it.

“Demanding,” Zoey suggested. “Domineering.”

Rosalie looked at her. “Precisely. How did you know?”

“You don’t sound upset with them, but you want to be away. It’s not that hard of a guess.” And competence like Rosalie’s, at such a young age, doesn’t come from a soft, comfortable upbringing.